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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28654938">harmless</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/filthynebula/pseuds/rageyasha'>rageyasha (filthynebula)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Critical Role (Web Series)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(just a bit), (that's a thing right?), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Exes to Lovers, F/F, Smut</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 14:16:02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>14,693</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28654938</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/filthynebula/pseuds/rageyasha</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Cautious excitement and nervous anticipation twine themselves along Beau's spine and extend their reaches into every nerve. She is practically buzzing. </p>
<p>It makes sense. After six months apart, she’s meeting up with her ex to go for drinks on a Friday night. Things are bound to get a bit dicey, emotionally speaking.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Beauregard Lionett/Yasha</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>57</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>223</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>harmless</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>the inspiration for this fic came from 'sex (with my ex)' by fletcher, which is an angsty little ditty about a very common mistake. or not mistake, for some, as is perhaps evidenced below.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Beau waits at the subway station with static electricity in her veins. It sparks and stings and keeps her moving. She shifts her weight from one foot to the other, passing the time by fidgeting as trains come and go. She’s only been waiting a few minutes, really, but the nervous energy of the evening makes it feel as though it’s been hours.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She leans against a stone pillar and glances at a glossy advertisement poster on the far wall of the station. It shows a beautiful woman surrounded by some kind of flowing purple ribbon that’s probably intended to imitate bedsheets without actually showing the woman in a bed. It’s an ad for perfume. Beau supposes it's meant to be sexy.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A train arrives and the poster is blocked from her view. It slows before creaking to a halt and the doors along the length of it slide open, letting passengers spill out. Beau looks up and down the length of the platform before she checks her phone – it’s 7:38 pm, and she has a new text from Yasha.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Her stomach does a backflip, or maybe a cartwheel. It must be some kind of signal to the rest of her body because she feels her palms getting sweaty as she holds her phone in her hand, her thumb hovering over the screen. Cautious excitement and nervous anticipation twine themselves along her spine and extend their reaches into every nerve. She is practically buzzing.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It makes sense. After all, she’s meeting up with her ex to go for drinks on a Friday night. Things are bound to get a bit dicey, emotionally speaking.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She slides her thumb across the screen. Her phone unlocks and opens Yasha’s message.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Here. Where should I find you?</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Not always a woman of many words, her ex-girlfriend. Beau’s lips quirk at the thought, threatening to tug into a smile. It annoys her that Yasha can still do that to her after so many months apart.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When their breakup was still fresh, Beau had hated that most of all; the way an errant thought would make her smile before breaking her heart two seconds later. She found it easy to block out entire memories. It was the little thoughts that really stung.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>That was months ago, though. She shakes her head a bit before she begins typing back a reply.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Near the stairs, north exit.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Found you-”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau prides herself on her reflexes, on her ability to never be taken by surprise. However, some things can’t be helped. Yasha’s voice, unheard for months and suddenly so close to her ear makes her jump a bit, and she nearly drops her phone.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Fuck’s sake,” Beau exhales as she turns around.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yasha, standing a few feet behind her, is already making to apologize. The words don’t even register with Beau. She is too busy taking her in.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>At first glance, Yasha is the same as she’s ever been. Towering and brawny, Beau had always made jokes about climbing her like a tree. And she did, with ease, because Yasha has always been immensely strong. And yet, with all that strength, she is also impressively gentle. Soft and gooey is how Jester once described her, and Beau’s seen it in action time and time again, both in public and private.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau, however, does her best not to think any further on those thoughts; on all the uses for Yasha’s strength and all the wonderful ways she could be gentle and generous and giving and- no. She smothers the thought before it can become dangerous.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The train has emptied while they’ve been standing around, and people begin filing towards the exits. Beau watches them part around Yasha like a river yielding to stone. For all her kindness, Yasha can be stubborn beyond belief when she wants to be. Beau tries to leave the bitterness out of that thought, but some wounds haven’t entirely healed yet.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>If some wounds haven’t healed, this meeting might not be the best idea, but Beau saves all of her best ideas for her work. After hours, she’s left only with half-baked plans and improvisations.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yasha’s hair is untamed, falling in a wild mane around her face and across her shoulders. The white streaks in it now seem more prevalent than the black that had ruled it when they’d been dating. The change looks good though, Beau has to admit. Her leather jacket hangs open, showing a plain white, nearly see-through v-neck that Beau has to fight not to stare at. She can see the shadow of black material beneath it, and if she doesn’t keep a tight rein on her imagination, it will take off in a mad dash with the rest of her dignity in tow. Dark jeans hug Yasha’s legs, and the entire ensemble is completed by the heavy black boots on her feet. Beau, in her blue and grey crop top, ripped jeans, and sneakers, imagines that they make quite a pair.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yasha has stopped speaking, apparently realizing that Beau isn’t paying the slightest bit of attention. She looks as though she’s taking in Beau’s appearance as well, and another beat of silence passes before Beau realizes they should probably get moving. Standing and staring feels like dangerous territory.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Hey,” she greets awkwardly, rubbing the back of her neck.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yasha’s lips pull into a faint smile as she watches the gesture. It’s one of Beau’s mannerisms that she’s never been able to kick. “Hi.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It’s, uh, good to see you,” Beau continues, and she wonders if the entire evening is going to be like this; stumbling over her words even as her heart runs a marathon in her chest.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You too,” Yasha replies easily, smiling softly now. “I’m sorry I was late-”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Pfft, hardly-” Beau waves her hand dismissively.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“-I hope you weren’t waiting long.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>Only every day since you left. </em>The thought hits her like lightning, gone in an instant but striking with decisive force. Luckily, it remains just a thought. Beau catches herself before she says anything truly stupid.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Just a few minutes,” she shrugs, keeping her emotions in check. “It’s good for building patience and all.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yasha’s eyebrow twitches like she wants to arch it. She doesn’t. “Well. We could all use more of that.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau lets the comment slide. Just as she needs to control the longing that’s blossomed in her chest, she needs to keep a firm grip on her temper too. There are so many scars between them that it’s a miracle there’s any unblemished skin left, but they must’ve found some or else they wouldn’t have agreed to meet.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>That’s what Beau tells herself, at least.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>So, instead of grumbling or picking a fight, she lets Yasha’s words and all their buried meanings roll off her back like water off a shell.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Come on,” she says, waving for Yasha to follow her. “I don’t feel like catching up in the subway. station”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yasha nods as she moves to follow. “Where would you like to catch up then?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau leads them to the staircase. There is a beat where she thinks Yasha will stay behind her, but then she moves to Beau’s side and they begin climbing upwards together. It’s the simplest thing in the world, but god if it doesn’t feel nice.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“The Leaky Tap?” Beau offers offhandedly, as though she hasn’t been turning this over in her mind for days.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The Leaky Tap is their old haunt, the bar where they’d spent countless evenings drinking and shooting pool and catching up with their friends. It’s practically a monument to every memory they ever made as a couple. It’s also probably the last place they should go together now that they’ve broken up.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Hearing Beau’s proposition, Yasha doesn’t miss a step, but Beau thinks maybe she does stumble a little. Still, she replies, “Sounds perfect.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They exit the station into cool evening air. It’s springtime, and the sun is setting as they hit the busy city streets. Beau hardly feels the chill along the bare skin of her stomach; she’s always been a furnace, except in the deepest depths of winter. Those nights it was nice to have an enormous body next to her to curl into. She does her best not to think about the winter that just passed. It had been a cold one, and the bed had been empty for all of it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Bringing herself out of unpleasant memories, she strives to focus on the here and the now. They match strides as they walk, more or less. They walk at the same pace, although Beau takes a stride and a half for every one of Yasha’s.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“So… how’ve you been?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Good,” Yasha replies simply. They turn a corner. Neither of them leads because they both know the way by memory. “Great, actually, with... the tour and all.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>God, Beau is a fool for ever thinking this conversation could be normal. The mere topic of Yasha’s life is fraught with pitfalls and traps. Yasha’s life is the entire reason they broke up in the first place.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And Beau knows that isn’t true, isn’t fair, but fuck if it isn’t the way she felt in those cold winter months.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Still, she does her best to swallow her resentment and replies, “That’s great, Yasha. You’re playing here too?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“We did, last night.” Yasha glances her way for a moment and looks apologetic. “If I’d known that you’d- that we’d-”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Don’t sweat it,” Beau assures her quickly. She knows what Yasha had been about to say – that if she’d known Beau was around and going to ask to see her, she would’ve invited her to last night’s show. But those are empty words, really, because they both know Beau wouldn’t have gone. “How was it?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Amazing,” Yasha replies before she winces. “I’m sorry- I feel as though... you don’t want to hear it?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau shrugs and keeps her eyes focused on the sidewalk in front of her. “If I didn’t want to hear it, I wouldn’t have asked.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beside her, Yasha sighs. Beau does feel her heart ache this time. It hasn’t taken long at all for them to fall back into old habits. Maybe this night was a terrible idea.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Except that it wasn’t, Beau fights to remind herself. She had been back on forth on it so many times, had asked Jester and Caleb and even Veth for their opinions, and she had weighed the pros and the cons of meeting Yasha like this. She had known it might be awkward and painful and touchy, but she had ultimately decided that the risk was worth it. And here she was, ruining it with passive-aggressive little comments designed to nettle and sting when in reality she wanted nothing more than to lick Yasha’s wounds, especially the ones she’s given her herself.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And fuck if that isn’t a problem in and of itself. Still, she wants to do better by the both of them, so she reaches for Yasha’s arm and stops her. She doesn’t let herself linger on the fact that it’s the first time she’s touched her in months.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m sorry,” she offers bluntly. “Can we just start this over?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She means this particular meeting, of course. Nothing more.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yasha looks at her and actually seems a bit relieved. “Yeah, please, let’s just... talk about something else?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau chuckles a bit. She has to. They are masters at avoiding their issues until they blow up in their faces weeks later, but this is just one night, so what’s the harm?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yeah-” Beau lets go of Yasha’s arm and begins walking again. “-Did you hear about Caleb’s new-”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“-New position, right?” Yasha latches onto the topic like a drowning sailor clinging to a life raft. Beau can sympathize with the desperation.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yeah, he’s a sessional instructor at the university. One of the youngest they’ve had, I think.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Wow.”There’s a beat of silence before Yasha continues, “You don’t think he’s gonna become-”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“-A massive prick?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“-A massive prick, yeah.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau glances to the side and sees Yasha looking at her. She’s grinning, big and toothy and perfect. It’s infectious. Beau can’t help it, her lips split into a wide smile as well. Her heart feels a little bit lighter. Fuck it, she might even laugh.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I don’t think he will, as long as we don’t let him.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Right,” Yasha agrees instantly. “We can’t let him.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Neither of them addresses what it means to say ‘we’. They both gloss over it and move smoothly onwards. Why not suspend reality just for one night?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They continue making easy conversation until they reach the Leaky Tap. They talk about Caleb and Veth and Caduceus, mostly. Neither of them mentions Jester and Fjord because Jester and Fjord are still very much in love, still very much perfect for each other, still very much a fairytale romance. But where Jester and Fjord are soaring, Beau and Yasha have crashed and burned. To talk about Jester and Fjord would be heartbreak-adjacent, and neither of them is interested in talking about that.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The Leaky Tap is nothing special. It’s a small little bar nestled into the ground floor of one of the city’s many old, cement office buildings. Where most of the skyline is dominated by rising towers of steel and glass, squat grey buildings still populate lower air spaces, and the Leaky Tap sits at the foot of one such relic. The exterior of the bar is a pattern of dark wooden framing around wide windows, and the name of the bar is displayed proudly across the glass in fading, gold lettering. It’s an imitation of an English-style pub, Beau thinks, and the sight of it is almost like coming home after a long trip away. She hasn’t set foot inside the Leaky Tap since the breakup. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>As they approach, a patron stumbles out of the door, and Beau can hear the sounds of a raucous party coming from inside. The customer nods to the bouncer- <em>the Leaky Tap has a bouncer now?</em> -before wandering down the sidewalk away from them and lighting a smoke.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They walk up to the door and their conversation fizzles out. The bouncer looks expectantly at the pair of them and Beau looks at Yasha in confusion. She shrugs back at her, equally lost.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Uh, can we go in?” Beau asks.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Sorry,” the bouncer replies gruffly. He’s a middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair. His thick beard nearly hides his mouth as he speaks. “Whole bars booked for a private event tonight.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau scoffs. “Are you serious? Who would book the Leaky Tap for an event? This place is practically a dive.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The bouncer raises an eyebrow at her. She nearly winces. She probably isn’t doing them any favours by insulting the establishment. Still, she holds her ground.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Come on, man, it’s just two of us. A little table at the back and you won’t even know we’re there.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The bouncer eyes her before turning his gaze on to Yasha. He takes in her boots, jacket, and wild mess of hair. He runs his gaze across the breadth of her shoulders. Beau thinks she sees him smile a bit under the beard.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He juts his chin at Yasha. “You think this one can fit at a little table in the back, do you?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>He isn’t unkind as he teases them. Beau actually thinks she would get along with him if he weren’t directly preventing her from enjoying her night.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Look, I’m sorry,” the bouncer continues, “but it’s a private event, no public admittance. We’re open again tomorrow night.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Tomorrow doesn’t-” Beau begins, before cutting herself off with an exasperated huff. “-Okay, forget it.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Come on,” Yasha lays a hand on her shoulder. “There are other bars.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yeah, yeah,” Beau mumbles as they turn and walk away. They continue down the sidewalk for a few paces before Beau speaks up again. The next words tumble from her mouth, unthinking, heedless to their consequences.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’m actually living two blocks from here.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She doesn’t intend it as an invitation, just a statement of fact, but she can’t help the way some piece of her hopes...</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh-” Yasha’s tone is taken aback, and Beau wants to shrivel up and die until she continues, “-We could, uh, just go there then? If you wanted- not like we have to- but if you don’t want to find another bar- you know?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She’s rambling. Beau can remember how Yasha would ramble when they first began dating. How she would stumble over the simplest questions and make a mess of the easiest answers. Beau has always found it endearing. It must be that, the nostalgia of it, that makes her say yes.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yeah, let’s do that. Easier than...,” she trails off because what? Easier than finding another bar? That’s a bold-faced lie since downtown is full of them. But Yasha doesn’t press her to continue and so she begins leading them along the streets that will wind back to her apartment.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>As they walk, they talk again, but Beau’s mind begins to wander. A seed has taken root in her gut, planted in the ashes of her former relationship, feeding on the anticipation that coils in her veins. If she’s not careful, they’re going to make a mess of things again.</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p>
  <em> <b>Six months earlier...</b> </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>You’re not serious, are you?”</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Beau is about five seconds away from losing her temper. She holds it by a fraying rope. It won’t take much more for it to snap.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>What do you mean?” Yasha asks.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>They’re in Yasha’s apartment, a small, cozy thing that has been Beau’s home for over a year. Ostensibly, it’s Yasha’s home too, if Yasha was ever around anymore.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>I mean you’re not seriously leaving again?”</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>Beau-”</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>You always do this,” Beau interrupts, frustrated, anger rising. “You always leave without giving me any warning. I swear to god, Yasha, one morning I’m just going to wake up and you’ll be gone. It’ll be like you never even existed in my life at all!”</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>They are arguing in the kitchen, standing opposite each other. Yasha has her arms crossed as she towers in front of the fridge. Beau leans back onto the cheap vinyl counter.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Her words strike Yasha like a slap in the face. She flinches under their impact before setting her jaw and frowning. “Like I never existed at all? I’m pretty forgettable, is that what you’re saying?”</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Beau rolls her eyes and sighs heavily in exasperation. “Yeah, Yasha. That’s obviously what I fucking meant.” </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Her words are followed by a loaded silence that hangs like a levelled gun in between them. Someone just needs to pull the damn trigger.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>So, where are you going now then?” Beau spits. She’s always been an agitator.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>We got a last-minute offer to tour with </em><em>Chained Oblivion.</em><em> They’re one of the biggest bands in the genre, we couldn’t refuse.”</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>Right. Just like you couldn’t refuse the Tombtakers or the last-minute invite to that festival in Denmark.”</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>We’re getting more popular!” Yasha raises her voice in frustration, her hand waving as she continues, “We’re getting successful! That’s what bands want to do, Beau- become famous.”</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>And that’s what you want, is it? To become famous?”</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>Don’t psychoanalyze me,” Yasha retorts angrily. “Just because you’re getting your Ph.D. in forensic psychology doesn’t mean you get to try to read me like one of your test subjects.”</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>They’re research participants,” Beau retorts impatiently. “And I’m not trying to psychoanalyze. I’m trying to understand-”</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>-What’s there to understand? I’m in a band. That band is getting popular. We’re expected to tour. I’m going to be gone.” Yasha says it with a simplicity that cuts like a knife.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>And that doesn’t bother you?” Beau demands, her voice rising. “It doesn’t bother you to leave me?”</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>Of course it bothers me, Beau!” </em><em>Yasha hurls back at her. “</em><em>You’re my girlfriend. You think it doesn’t kill me every time I have to pack my bags and walk out that door? What am I supposed to do? </em><em>We both know y</em><em>ou can’t come with me.”</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>She doesn’t say it to make Beau feel worse but Beau is feeling defensive and her claws are out. “That’s right, I can’t! I’m here working </em> <em>on </em> <em>my fucking dissertation. I’m studying and working and trying to keep my head above water and you’re leaving me every </em> <em>few weeks</em> <em> to go be a rock star.”</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>There’</em> <em>s</em> <em> a pause </em> <em>like a deep breath before they plunge into a storm,</em> <em> and then-</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>Yasha laughs a low, amused chuckle. </em> <em>It’s sincere, </em> <em>and it turns the tension </em> <em>in the room</em> <em> from steel into smoke; immaterial and vanishing. </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“'<em>Rock star’ sounds so... so...,” Yasha is struggling to find the word, her mouth curling into a smile.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>Pretentious?” Beau offers, her lips doing the same. </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>Yeah,” Yasha nods. “Pretentious.”</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Another beat of silence and then,</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>I’m sorry,” Yasha sighs, her voice thick with emotion. “I know </em><em>it hasn’t been easy... dating me.”</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>B</em> <em>eau scoffs and crosses the kitchen. She wraps her arms around Yasha’s waist and looks up into solemn eyes. “</em> <em>Dating </em> <em>is never easy. Loving you is pretty simpl</em> <em>e,</em> <em> though.”</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>Yasha closes her eyes as if Beau is inflicting a </em> <em>physical </em> <em>wound. </em> <em>A tear slips </em> <em>out, </em> <em>travelling slow and lazily </em> <em>un</em> <em>til it rests precariously on her chin. Beau lifts a hand and brushes it away with her finger</em> <em>tips</em> <em>.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>We can make this work, right?” Yasha whispers. Her voice trembles like she is a second away from crumbling.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>Beau lays her head on Yasha’s chest. </em><em>The truth is, she doesn’t know, but she’s not going to say it. Instead, she lets a</em> <em>heavy </em><em>sigh leave her lips </em><em>before she murmurs,</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>Of course we can.”</em></p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau’s apartment is a humble thing. A studio, befitting a college student. The interior of it feels a bit like a shipping container in that it is narrow and long, but at the far end of the apartment she has floor-to-ceiling windows that look out onto the city streets below. The view is nice but she’s only seven storeys up, hardly the pinnacle of the skyline.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The apartment has all the basics: a small bathroom near the front door, a small kitchen, and a small space for her bed. Small is the qualifying trait of downtown studio apartments rented on a student’s budget. Well, almost on a student’s budget.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No offence, Beau, but how are you affording this?” Yasha asks when they first enter the apartment. It is far from luxurious but is certainly more costly than what a lot of Ph.D. students could afford.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“My dad is... helping,” Beau explains as she kicks off her shoes. “You know how he is. He has the money and he practically leaped at the opportunity to make him feel better about himself. He’s trying to atone or some shit, for sending me away as a kid, so he’s helping me pay for this place as some kind of apology, I guess.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yasha mouths an exaggerated ‘wow’ as she shrugs out of her leather jacket. Beau smacks her arm. “Don’t tease. You know I’ve never played into the ‘trust fund kid’ shit.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I know,” Yasha replies easily, hanging her jacket on a hook by the door. “Do you think I can take partial credit for this because of that time I scared your dad shitless?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau snorts at the memory. “You did, didn’t you. I nearly forgot.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yasha shoots her a smug grin and Beau rolls her eyes. There’s no real annoyance behind the motion, though. She feels giddy with the same cautious excitement from the subway, and far less stressed. The evening is going well, she thinks gladly. Since they decided to ‘start it over’, it’s gone perfectly.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Come on, want a tour?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Sure,” Yasha nods.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau leads Yasha into the apartment proper. The entryway opens up on either side and they walk into Beau’s kitchen. It occupies the space to the right of them and consists of dark wooden cabinets and light wooden countertops. Her appliances stand out in stainless steel finish. Hugging the opposite wall to the kitchen, along the left, is a short, long bookcase also made of dark wood. Yasha whistles in appreciation.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“This is... nice.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau blushes, honest to god embarrassed. “My dad did it, I swear. You know it’s not my style, the... the lavish shit.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She isn’t sure why she needs Yasha to believe her. Probably because she’s her ex. Probably because she doesn’t want Yasha to think that the past six months have changed her, somehow. She’s still the same person, the same woman she used to know. She needs Yasha to believe that.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It seems your dad’s style, yeah,” Yasha offers as she steps into the kitchen. She turns and looks to Beau.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s a fucking sight to see, that’s for sure, and it has Beau rooted to the floor. Yasha standing in her kitchen, casual and unguarded. Beau could take three steps forward and be in her arms. Like she’d done so many times before, she could wrap her arms around her, rest her head on her chest-</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau shakes her head and blinks. “The, uh, bathroom is over there.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She gestures left and backwards a bit, toward the other side of the room. The bathroom is small, tucked into the space near the entryway. Yasha nods when she sees it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Good to know.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Uh, yeah, and then it’s just-”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau doesn’t finish but instead begins to lead Yasha further into the apartment. It’s impossible to get lost being just one long room. At the far end of the kitchen, a raised countertop serves as Beau’s ‘dining table’. Then, beyond that, there is a small half wall on either side of the apartment that offers a modicum of privacy to the ‘bedroom’: an open space that houses Beau’s bed, a night table, and a dresser.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The blinds of the floor-to-ceiling windows aren’t drawn, and city lights twinkle outside amongst the darkness of nightfall.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Beau, this place is wonderful,” Yasha comments. She moves forward until she stands at the head of Beau’s bed, getting a better look out the window.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It is pretty great, isn’t it,” Beau agrees, rubbing her neck again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She makes a mental note to thank her dad, maybe, if her good feelings last. She has to pull her eyes away from watching Yasha, though, as she hovers at the window. It’s too much to see her in Beau’s bedroom like this. The kitchen was one thing but this is far more intimate. She turns away.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>With the not-so-grand tour over, she leads them back to the kitchen. “Want a drink?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Please.” Yasha takes a seat at the high counter. Her long legs fold easily as her heels rest on the low rungs of the chair. She faces into the kitchen, resting her forearms on the countertop. “How long have you been living here?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau opens the fridge and searches for two bottles. “A couple months.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She doesn’t tell Yasha that she had to couch surf for four months after their breakup. She doesn’t mention crashing with Jester and Caleb and Caduceus and Fjord on a rotation that was mostly designed to make sure she didn’t overstay her welcome in one place for too long. She doesn’t mention the two weeks she shared a bedroom with Veth’s son, Luc, or the boxes of her stuff still sitting in Caduceus’ basement. She loves all her friends dearly, and she feels indebted to them forever, but she cannot stand to feel like a burden. Those few months felt humiliating even though she really knows that they shouldn’t, but that humiliation turned to bitterness whenever she thought about why she wound up there.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The breakup had happened so suddenly, Yasha’s life moved so quickly, and before Beau knew it she was left with no home. It was too late to look for a residence on campus, and most of the good off-campus places had been snatched up in the early weeks of the semester. Beau was stuck in the unfortunate position of looking for an apartment in late-autumn.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But it wasn’t Yasha’s fault that affordable apartments were hard to come by, especially once winter rolled around. It wasn’t Yasha’s fault that living on her own suddenly meant paying more rent. But to think on it for too long is to risk that old bitterness returning, so Beau puts the memories out of her mind as she looks through the fridge.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She pulls two beer bottles out a moment later, cracks them open, and passes one to Yasha. Then, she stays safely where she is, keeping the counter between them. She isn’t ready to risk taking the seat next to Yasha just yet.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There is a lull in the conversation, the first since leaving the subway, as they both take long pulls of their drinks. Beau knows she should ask how the band’s doing: about the shows and the afterparties and the networking that they’ve done, but she can’t bring herself to get the words past her lips.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Thankfully, Yasha picks the next topic for them.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“How’s Jester’s mom?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau is relieved that this is the next conversation. It’s much easier and much lighter than talking about them. She takes another sip of her drink before she grins widely.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“She’s great! Better than great, even. I think she’s happy that Jester seems to have settled someplace close, and she’s really taken a liking to Fjord.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yasha smiles and takes another swig of beer as Beau begins to tell her about her last visit to the Lavish Chateau with Jester. This inevitably leads them to talk about Jester, and then Fjord, and then all bets are off. They can’t help it any longer and they launch into stories, mostly shared memories, involving them and all of their friends.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It doesn’t take long for them to finish their drinks. The mounting excitement that comes with catching up has imbued them with a kind of exhilaration, and Beau is already grabbing them each another drink from the fridge.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Halfway through her second drink, Beau caves and makes her way over to Yasha. She sits next to her on the other tall chair, and they trade their glances between their drinks and each other as they both take stock of the decreased distance between them. At first, they are both a bit nervous, and the conservation stumbles a little, but before long the alcohol serves to smooth things over again. Soon enough they are back to their enthusiastic selves.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It doesn’t take long for their cheeks to flush as they talk. Beau thinks it’s the alcohol; she can definitely feel herself getting a bit tipsy. Nothing concerning, of course, she’s well in control. But she feels enough that it gives the world a pleasant kind of glow. A soft warmth and an unfailing courage. To do what, she doesn’t know – maybe it's nothing more than the courage to look at Yasha and smile.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They continue to talk about their memories together: tagging along to the Clay family reunion, celebrating Veth’s son’s sixth birthday, and yes, even reminiscing about their best double dates with Jester and Fjord. The alcohol makes Beau loose-lipped. It makes her heartbreak a distant memory as she revels in the happiness that their shared nostalgia brings.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s all about the good times, of course. It’s easy, with the alcohol, to forget there were any bad times at all.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>As they polish off their second drinks, they begin to talk about the time their entire friend group went axe throwing. On her first throw, Yasha missed, and the handle of the axe hit the backboard so hard that the weapon sprang backwards towards an unwitting Beauregard, who was toeing over the safety line in anticipation of her turn to throw.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It’s not my fault it rebounded backwards!” Yasha defends herself loudly, half-laughing, a smile on her face. The remaining beer in her bottle sloshes as she waves her hand in Beau’s direction. “You were supposed to be standing further away.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yeah but you weren’t supposed to throw it as hard as you possibly could,” Beau counters as she brings her bottle to her mouth. She takes a sip before her lips curl into a wide grin; she hasn’t felt this good in ages. There’s a danger in it, she’s sure, but she can hardly bother herself with why.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It’s about balance,” she says as she puts her bottle down on the counter. “You have to throw it with grace, not brute force!”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yasha laughs as she tosses her hair over one shoulder. “We both know I’ve never been graceful.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau’s eyes track the motion before glancing up the length of Yasha’s throat and along the edge of her jaw. Beau can’t blame the alcohol for letting her eyes wander, but she does blame it for making her want to follow the trail with her tongue. Luckily, she has enough self-control to keep that thought firmly in the realm of ‘not going to be acted on’. She focuses on Yasha’s eyes again. Respectfully.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Oh, come on, that’s not true,” Beau assures her, picking up the conversation. Talking to Yasha is so easy now that their guards are both down. Her words keep coming without a second thought. “You used to play the harp and that’s graceful as fuck.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yasha concedes that, <em>fine</em>, a harp is pretty graceful.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Soon enough, they crack open third drinks. They are blazing their way through them at an alarming rate. Of course, neither of them are alarmed. Neither of them even seem to notice the empty bottles they’re amassing.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>At some point, Beau swivels in her chair to face Yasha, not the counter, and Yasha unconsciously matches her position. Their legs bump as they shift until they find a way to slot together. Their bodies gravitate towards each other with the help of their lowered inhibitions. Not a trace remains of the awkwardness that had muddled the space between them in the subway station. It has dissipated as easily as mist under the sun.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The third drink is when Beau feels her self-restraint start to slip. Without thinking, she lets her knee rest against the inside of Yasha’s thigh. Yasha doesn’t flinch, doesn’t ask her to move, and Beau doesn’t really notice that she’s even done it at first. It’s simple and harmless, soft and inviting.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s one moment among many that will change the course of the evening. Some boundary has been tested, crossed, even broken. The evidence follows a few minutes later when Yasha lets her free hand drop to Beau’s thigh.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yasha doesn’t miss a beat, doesn’t halt the story she’s telling for one second. The placement of her hand is chaste, hardly higher than Beau’s knee, but Beau feels the heat of it like molten lava spilling over her skin. Yasha’s thumb curves around the shape of her leg, resting innocently on the inside of her thigh. Beau’s mouth is dry suddenly and she blames it on the booze even as she takes another generous sip of her beer. She needs it to wet her throat so that she doesn’t sound hoarse when she speaks. She needs it to occupy her attention so she doesn’t do something reckless.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The hyperawareness of Yasha’s touch passes quickly enough, just as Beau had hardly thought about the placement of her own knee against Yasha’s thigh. Yasha continues her story, Beau listens attentively, and the evening carries on.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But the lines they had drawn so carefully in the sand have begun shifting. They are being washed away by the tide with every drop of alcohol they drink</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Before long, Beau is gesturing wildly with her free hand as she tells her own elaborate story. She has always been an enthusiastic storyteller. She knows Yasha has always admired her for it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>As she waves her hand idly between them again, Yasha moves her hand from Beau’s thigh and catches her wrist suddenly. Her grip is gentle but firm. She traces her thumb along Beau’s skin.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Is this new?” she asks suddenly, interrupting Beau’s story.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She traces over black ink; a small tattoo on the outside of Beau’s wrist. Beau’s mouth pauses in a half-finished sentence, her breath catching in the back of her throat.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yasha’s touch on her skin feels better than it has any right to. Over the material of her jeans it had been heavy and warm, but this is something else altogether. This makes her heart leap and her chest burn. Her stomach clenches not in panic but in a kind of joy, like the triumphant shake of a fist. It takes Beau a moment to realize Yasha asked her a question, and when she does she finds her mouth too dry to answer.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Y-yeah,” she stammers, before collecting herself. “It’s new, yeah.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yasha tilts her wrist slightly until the tattoo faces upwards. It looks like two links of a chain, cut in half lengthwise. She frowns. “What is it?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It’s, uh-” Beau is stammering, and she abruptly feels rather guilty over what the tattoo does mean. Still, she continues, “It’s two ‘C’s. It’s a- Jester and Veth and I all got them together. It’s for, uh, ‘Chaos Crew’.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yasha merely arches an eyebrow. No sign of hurt or indignation at not being included. Still, Beau feels the need to add hastily, “You were gone.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yasha doesn’t let Beau’s comment affect her and instead traces over the interlocked ‘C’s once again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Chaos Crew,” she murmurs, and Beau is relieved to hear amusement. There’s something else too but Beau can’t quite figure it out. “What wild night of partying sparked that name, I wonder?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Her thumb continues tracing. Beau is hypnotized by the pattern. She watches Yasha make a slow figure-8 over the ‘C’s before she trails further along her wrist, her touch as light as a feather and equally soft. Beau tilts her wrist in response, prompting Yasha to keep touching her, and it should be a warning of some kind when Yasha doesn’t stop.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There should be alarms blaring in her mind, telling her to pull away, but she hears nothing. She feels warmth, mostly, the same as when Yasha had laid her hand above her knee. Only this threatens to stoke at something much bigger. If they’re not careful, Beau is going to ignite.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yasha doesn’t seem to realize what she’s doing. She simply keeps tracing her thumb along Beau’s skin, still waiting for an answer. Beau coughs.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“It was- uh- honestly, I don’t even remember,” she stammers.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yasha smiles- smirks, actually- and Beau feels the ship of her heart heading into dangerous waters. “You don’t remember? Another drunken bender, Beau?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She doesn’t seem to move, but Beau swears she can feel a change in the molecules of the air. Yasha lets her name roll off her tongue teasingly, like she used to before, and Beau’s body responds in ways she’d nearly forgotten. Her heart rate picks up and her breathing quickens. Yasha makes her feel like static electricity before a storm.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It would be so simple to wipe the smirk off Yasha’s face. To press forward and close the distance between them, as her own show of force in response to Yasha’s teasing.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When she realizes what she’s thinking, Beau pulls her wrist away as if burnt. Yasha frowns but before she can speak, Beau covers by saying, “I just need to, uh, use the bathroom.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She pushes back in her seat and ducks away from the kitchen. She crosses the apartment hurriedly and ducks into the bathroom. She turns the light on, closes the door, and leans heavily on the sink.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck,” she whispers to herself.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau looks at herself in the mirror, but nothing stands out. She is the same woman as always. Inside, she is still warm, still flushed from Yasha’s touch. She leans forward and wets her hands with cold water from the sink. She pats the back of her neck and the base of her throat, hoping to cool off somehow while she tries to rein in whatever mad impulses are threatening to take control.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“She’s your ex, man, it’s a bad idea. It’s a bad idea. It’s a bad-” she cuts herself off because, well, she gets the point. She straightens up, looks herself over, and nods once to her reflection. A resolute promise not to give in. Then, she opens the bathroom door and returns to the apartment.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>To her surprise, in the short time she was occupied, Yasha has moved. She is crouching near the bookcase that rests along the wall opposite the kitchen, almost right outside the bathroom door. Beau thinks she should be annoyed to catch her ex-girlfriend snooping, except that she simply can’t find it in herself to be mad. She announces her presence by clearing her throat as she walks over.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Whatcha doin’?” she asks, hoping all traces of her earlier stammering are gone.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yasha is silent for a moment, and Beau notices that she holds a book in her hands in front of her. It’s closed. The front page displays, in bold font: <em>The Odyssey.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You kept this?” Yasha asks softly.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau is a bit taken aback that this is the discussion they’re going to be having, of all things, but still, she answers, “Well, yeah. It was a gift.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“From me,” Yasha replies, as though that is argument enough.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau shrugs. “I’ve always liked that book. You know that. Don’t read into it too much. If it makes you feel better, I haven’t had a chance to even read it since you left it.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It comes out sounding a bit harsher than she meant to. She’s trying to tease Yasha back after their conversation at the counter but Yasha hardly seems to notice. Instead, she stands up and turns towards Beau. She holds out the book expectantly, waiting for Beau to take it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Page 87.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau frowns, takes the book, and begins flipping to the right page. She finds it. Her heart leaps into her throat.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There, laying neatly between pages 86 and 87 is a single pressed daisy. Far from ornate but perfectly preserved. It’s been waiting patiently between the pages for months, since before Yasha left, hoping to be discovered.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau kicks herself for not having read the book sooner. To discover it like this, with Yasha standing in front of her, is a situation she is not at all adequately prepared for. Emotions rise like a tidal wave within the confines of her heart, each vying for a place at the crest; pain and heartbreak, sadness and grief, happiness, desire, nostalgia, and love. Fucking love.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau looks up from the book to find Yasha watching her carefully. She’s a woman of few words, but they’re all evident in her eyes. Beau gazes into them and sees the same emotions reflected back at her. What have they gone and done to each other now?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yasha takes a cautious step forward. All their brazenness from the kitchen is gone. Now they step lightly, worried about making a false move. Yasha reaches out a hand slowly. She almost doesn’t seem aware of doing it. Her fingers brush lightly along the side of Beau’s jaw, like the touch of a ghost. Beau fights not to close her eyes, not to lean into the touch. It’s a damn battle and a half, but somehow she manages. And then,</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Beau...”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yasha says her name like both a plea and a prayer. It kills Beau to hear it. It pulls at something inside of her, breaks something loose, and she moves without thinking or holding herself back. Just like that, she is no longer dancing around lines; she is plowing through walls.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She brings her hand up to Yasha’s chest, curls it in the front of her shirt, and pulls. She brings Yasha down to meet her and kisses her. Fiercely, desperately, like it’s the last kiss in the world. If Yasha is surprised, she doesn’t show it, she simply returns it in kind.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s a bit messy at first but they’re hardly trying to be neat. Beau is fuelled by impulse and she lets it run rampant. Her lips meet Yasha’s like a wave dashing against stone, both powerful and pliant.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She keeps her fist knotted in the cotton of Yasha’s shirt. Yasha’s arms encircle her waist until she thinks better of it and instead brings one hand up to bury her fingers in the hair at the back of Beau’s neck. Beau makes a pleased noise in her throat.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She can’t help but feel like this is where she belongs.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She licks her tongue along Yasha’s bottom lip before pushing further. Yasha lets her in easily. She tastes the beer on Yasha’s tongue, feels the edges of her teeth. They know each other so well that each motion is less of an exploration and more of a rediscovery, like the excavation of an ancient city long lost to time.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yasha tightens her grip on Beau’s hip, pulling her closer. Beau has the presence of mind to rest the book, the catalyst to this entire thing, on the top of the bookcase beside them before she lets her hand curl upward. She drags it along Yasha’s arm, her fingers curling over the muscles of her biceps before she curves along her shoulder and up the side of her neck. She drags two fingers along the line of Yasha’s jaw, letting her nail scrape lightly only to smooth the line over with her thumb. Yasha breathes hot air against her at the touch. Beau lets her fingers dance back, tracing below Yasha’s ear and around her neck until she lets them rest there, gripping lightly but anchoring them together.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Some part of her knows it's a terrible idea resulting from alcohol and nostalgia, but most of her can’t be bothered to give a single flying fuck. Yasha is kissing her and she would almost rather die than let go.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When they break apart for a moment, Yasha rests her forehead against Beau’s. They are silent apart from their heavy breathing and at that moment a fear so powerful strikes Beau that she nearly gasps with the force of it.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She can’t stop. Not yet. Not already. Not after so long apart.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>So she says the one thing she can think of to make it last longer. She nudges Yasha’s nose and whispers,</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Take me to bed.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yasha lets out a shaky sigh. Beau wonders if she’s thinking about telling her no. About stopping things before they get too out of hand. Whatever she’s thinking, she comes to a decision a short moment later when she presses her lips to Beau’s again. Then, she stoops low. Beau, knowing what’s coming, knowing Yasha and her body and all the ways they used to fit together, cinches her arms behind Yasha’s neck and jumps into her touch. Yasha catches her, reaching around the back of her thighs, and Beau locks her legs around Yasha’s waist like a great big koala.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It sends fire through every part of her, molten and wanting. She is becoming a creature of impulse but she doesn’t care to stop. She kisses Yasha again, hungrily, dragging her nails along her scalp. Yasha makes a noise like a groan as she carries Beau to the bed.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Neither of them speaks and neither of them laughs. This isn’t something playful between partners. It isn’t effortless or light. There will be consequences to what is about to happen between them. They both know it, but neither stops.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>At the bed, Yasha hinges forward and lays Beau on her back. Heavy heat creeps through Beau’s veins. It travels slowly, building pressure, coiling the desire in her gut. When Yasha settles over top of her, their legs slot together and Yasha’s thigh presses against her. Beau feels her insides ignite like a fuse, sparking towards an eventual explosion. Her hips pitch upwards without thinking. She feels Yasha’s huff in surprise.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Sorry, I-” Beau starts, not even sure why she’s apologizing. She doesn’t finish as Yasha kisses her hungrily and presses into her again. Whatever words Beau might’ve said next die in the strangled gasp that leaves her. She feels herself burning up, feels the heat course between her legs.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>From the moment she kissed Yasha, it's as though a dam has burst. Whatever was holding them back all evening has completely evaporated. Now they touch each other with all the familiarity of lovers, and all the urgency of two people who know that they’re not.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yasha kisses along Beau’s jaw and down her throat before coming to the collar of Beau’s shirt. Beau hates the barrier, just another obstacle between them, so sits up and strips her shirt over her head in one fluid motion. The sports bra she wears underneath isn’t the sexiest item, but Yasha doesn’t seem to care in the least. She gives Beau an open-mouthed kiss before sinking lower again. She lets her lips travel along newly exposed skin, leaving a wet trail along Beau’s collarbones and the top of her chest.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>While Yasha kisses her, Beau lets her hands wander. She pulls up Yasha’s shirt and feels the skin underneath. It doesn’t take long for her touch to wander higher, and soon enough she’s palming Yasha’s breasts through her bra. She wants more, and she pushes against Yasha to let her know as much. Yasha gets the message, sits backwards, and pulls her shirt over her head.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The black material Beau had seen beneath Yasha’s shirt earlier had indeed been the shadow of her bra. It’s black and lacy. Some part of Beau wants to laugh.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Why would Yasha wear this unless she wanted Beau to see it?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s an unfair assumption but Beau’s far beyond that. She pushes herself up from the bed and kisses Yasha’s sternum. Yasha tilts her head back and sighs. If Beau had any trace of willpower remaining to refuse her, it crumbles as soon as she hears that satisfied breath leave Yasha’s mouth.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She reaches up and undoes the clasp of Yasha’s bra. Yasha shrugs it off her shoulders before tossing it to the floor. Beau presses her nose between Yasha’s breasts and holds there for a moment. She breathes her in. If she concentrates, she thinks she can feel the furious, fluttering beat of Yasha’s heart.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She knows this body. She knows Yasha’s beauty mark below her left collarbone and the scar across her right shoulder. She knows the green floral and runic tattoo that makes a beautiful pattern all down her left arm. The swell of her breasts and the curve of her waist and the dimples below the ridges of her spine. Beau knows them all.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She lets out a shaky breath against Yasha’s skin. It’s almost like a sigh of relief. Yasha doesn’t say anything, but she brings her arms around Beau and lets her fingers drag slowly along her back.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau wants to tell her how much she’s missed her. How many dreams she’s had about her and how many times she woke up reaching for her come morning. She doesn’t, though. She can’t. Instead, she presses her lips again and again along Yasha’s chest until the emotions dwindle and her desire rears up again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She kisses sideways, pressing her lips to the soft skin of one of Yasha’s breasts before she wraps her mouth around her nipple. Yasha’s breath catches. Beau doesn’t want to give her a second to think, so she lets her tongue curl over her nipple slowly, savouring the way Yasha’s breath quickens above her. Her hand comes up and reaches for Yasha’s other breast and she lets her thumb run lazily over that nipple as she continues to flick the other with her tongue. Yasha’s breath stutters again and she grabs the back of Beau’s head, holding her against her as she arches into the touch.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>They don’t balance like that for long. Yasha pitches forward and forces Beau onto her back again. They break apart, and Yasha takes the opportunity to dig her fingers below the bottom edge of Beau’s bra. It’s tighter, less efficient to take off than Yasha’s had been, but Beau strips it as quickly as she can, leaving them both naked from the waist up, panting into the space between them.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau takes a moment to take it all in. Above her, Yasha is backlit faintly by the lights they forgot to turn off in the kitchen. It casts her pale skin in an orange-yellow glow. It reminds Beau of summer; of trips to the coast, of both of them seeing the ocean for the very first time, of making love on the beach, a blanket under their bodies to keep out the sand.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>The memory stings. It reminds her of everything she had, and everything she’s lost.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau presses up and kisses Yasha again, greedily, as if kissing her hard enough will keep the memories at bay. Yasha kisses her back, slipping her tongue into Beau’s mouth. It works. The memory fades. Beau is returned firmly to the moment at hand.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She fists one hand into the wild mane of Yasha’s hair even as she drops the other to the button of her own jeans. She unclasps them, drags the zipper down, and fidgets beneath Yasha. Yasha pulls back so she can hook her fingers into the belt loops, sliding the jeans down her legs while Beau does her best to kick them off.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>With her pants gone, Yasha is no longer hovering above her but is sitting back on her heels somewhere around her knees. Beau wants her back, closer, and she is about to reach up and pull her when Yasha bends forward and presses her lips to the inside of Beau’s calf.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s soft. Intimate. If they were still dating, it would make Beau feel special and cherished. But they aren’t, and the feeling she gets instead is one of fear.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yasha has always been so good at making her feel loved, but Beau isn’t <em>hers </em>anymore. She can’t claim these feelings anymore. She thinks to speak up, to tell Yasha that she can’t do it like this because this will hurt so much more than just sex. This kind of touch will be the furthest thing from harmless.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But Yasha kisses her again, higher, on the inside of her knee, and Beau’s legs are already spreading apart, opening up to accommodate Yasha’s body like a flower meeting the sun. Yasha drags her lips higher, her touch feather-soft. She plants her body in the space between Beau’s legs, settling as if she means to take root. Beau can’t watch; she lets her head fall back against the bed even as she feels Yasha’s mouth move higher still. She can hear her breath leaving her fast and hard. She’s about one kiss away from letting out a whine.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She feels Yasha’s fingers dip into the waistband of her underwear before she drags down, taking all of the fabric with her, and for the second time in as many minutes, Beau is being undressed again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And then she’s naked, Yasha’s body still curled between her legs. She remembers that Yasha is still in her jeans and she thinks that’s not fair at all, but she doesn’t get the chance to rectify it as she feels Yasha begin to kiss her again. On the inside of her thighs and along the ridge of her hip. She moves slowly like she is savouring the taste of Beau’s skin. Beau wants her faster, wants her to stop making it feel as if they’re about to make love instead of fuck.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Her body betrays her, though. Her legs fall open and her back arches up with every staggering breath that she has to fight to take. There is a weight on her chest; she wants to blame it on the mess they’re in but she knows it’s not that at all. It’s the weight of love, and it’s fucking heavy.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She can’t help but look. She tilts her chin and gazes down at Yasha, whose eyes are shut with her lips pressed against her thigh. She must sense Beau’s movement because she pulls away and opens her eyes. They look at each other. Yasha’s eyes hold oceans that Beau would kill to explore. Beau thinks all her eyes hold is a simple request.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Please.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yasha receives it. She wraps her arms around Beau’s legs and dips her head lower. Beau feels her a second later, feels Yasha’s mouth against her, a soft press of her lips. Then her tongue, trailing torturously slowly, parting Beau and spilling out all of her want.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau sighs, but it may as well be a moan. She doesn’t care anymore whether they fuck or make love. She just wants this, wants Yasha, over and over.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Her hips twitch. Yasha flattens a hand along her thigh, her fingers spilling over onto her pelvis. She holds Beau down, presses her into the mattress. This time, Beau does let out a high-pitched whine. Yasha’s tongue wanders like she has no destination in mind, and the gentle curl of it mixed with the firm grip of her hands is making Beau ache with want. Yasha, however, is determined to take her time.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau has always had the tendency to love like a tornado; a whirlwind of taste and touch and pressure. Yasha, on the other hand, loves like a heatwave; unhurried and deliberate. Every touch is a slow drip, a maddening crawl, until Beau is convinced that the heat will consume her.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yasha’s licks along her slowly, knowing when to curl her tongue and when to drag it along the length of her in a long, broad stroke. Beau watches her, at first, and Yasha returns her gaze in kind. Then, Yasha closes her eyes and hums in the back of her throat, her mouth still working at undoing her. Beau can’t watch after that. Her eyes roll back and her neck extends as she pushes up, up, up as much as she can. Into Yasha, into the air, into the fucking city skyline for all she cares. Just so long as Yasha keeps going- doesn’t stop-</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Don’t stop-” she chokes out. She says it pleadingly, her voice little more than a whisper. Yasha doesn’t reply and doesn’t stop.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Soon enough Beau is arching her back, her hands fisted in the bedspread. She’s brought one heel to Yasha’s back and she digs in with a ferocious pressure as her body tenses in anticipation. Yasha teases all sorts of noises out of her, working her to the point where Beau can hardly catch her breath. She feels ready to snap, muscles flexing and joints locking. She just needs-</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yasha swirls her tongue before pressing harder, moving faster against her clit. Beau caves, shatters, moans loudly as her hips spasm beneath the insistent pressure of Yasha’s tongue and the steadying weight of her hands.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She does <em>not</em> say Yasha’s name.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When she can’t take it any longer she makes a strangled noise that Yasha knows well from all their long months together. She pulls back and Beau looks down at her in time to catch her wiping the back of her hand across her mouth. Then, she clambers along Beau’s body until she hovers over her again. Beau is once again slightly annoyed to find Yasha still in jeans.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Before she can speak, Yasha kisses her softly. Too softly. It’s too much, and some part of Beau thinks she should push her off or roll away, but her limbs are heavy and her body is spent and Yasha’s presence is a warmth that she missed all winter long. She kisses back, tasting herself in every bit of Yasha’s mouth.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yasha pulls away first. She leans her forehead against Beau’s and they fall into a silence permeated only by the sound of their breathing. It lingers on.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yasha breaks it first.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I missed you.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau thinks her heart might be breaking again, as though she put it back together after their breakup but it was a patchwork job, and it was never going to take much for it to shatter again. She isn’t sure how to respond, isn’t sure if she even can, so instead she does what she does best and uses actions over words.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She tilts her chin up and nudges Yasha’s once. Then, she kisses her slowly, trying to convey her feelings. She wraps a hand around Yasha’s waist, plants the other above her chest, and flips them. They roll over easily- Yasha goes willingly- and Beau finds herself straddling her ex-girlfriend the same way she used when they were together.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She won’t think about memories, though. She keeps kissing Yasha as she fumbles at the button of her jeans. Undoes them, unzips them, removes them entirely. Yasha might be trembling. Beau doesn’t stop to find out. She pulls Yasha’s underwear down her long, muscular legs. She could crush Beau’s head between her thighs. Once or twice, she almost did.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>With Yasha naked beneath her, Beau drops a knee in the space between her thighs. She presses forwards as she moves to kiss her again, but before their lips connect she stops and gasps- Yasha is wet against her, warm and wanting. In her surprise, Beau’s mouth falls short of her target. She lets her lips connect with Yasha’s throat instead as she grinds forward again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yasha moans and her hips jerk in response. Beau can feel the slick of her making a mess against her thigh. She can feel Yasha’s throat thrumming as she makes pleased, little noises. Beau stops kissing her neck, has to kiss her mouth instead, but it's a mess with both of them grinding against each other, and they pant hot air against each other more than they kiss.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yasha brings a leg up to rest between Beau’s thighs, and Beau nearly caves to the want that’s rebuilding inside her. They could rut against each other until they both came undone, but Beau’s been so long without Yasha that there’s something else she finds herself wanting. She gently pushes Yasha’s leg out of the way, and when Yasha makes a noise like she’s going to argue, Beau drops her hand between her legs and drags her fingers through the heat of her. Yasha’s argument dies in her throat, a stuttering moan leaving her lips. She takes in a shaky breath.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Beau.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yasha exhales her name like a secret. Beau needs to swallow it up. She leans forward and kisses her as she keeps her hand moving slowly. She dances her fingertips in slow circles around Yasha’s clit. It thrills her to feel Yasha get wetter beneath her. She kisses her hungrily, sucking Yasha’s bottom lip into her mouth.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>And then, on an impulse she can’t stop, she pulls back enough to reply, “I’m here.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>That makes Yasha moan louder, makes her come alive underneath her in a way she wasn’t before. She begins touching Beau wildly, curving a hand around the back of her neck while letting the other scratch deep lines into her back. Beau responds with a feverish hunger, and before she knows it she’s dipping her fingers inside her, pressing as deep as she has to in order to pull more of those noises from Yasha’s mouth.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yasha moans and sighs and gasps while Beau touches her. It makes Beau feel drunk, much drunker than before. She knows she’s bringing Yasha closer to the edge by the way she’s holding onto her, one iron grip locked around her hip, the other on her shoulder. Beau leans down and kisses her under her ear as she pulls her fingers out suddenly and drags them over her clit.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yasha moans her name this time. Not a whisper. Not a prayer. Yasha makes her name sound like pure bliss.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It feels like coming home if home was built on foundations of heartbreak, but Beau doesn’t care anymore what they built this house on. It’s theirs.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She rubs Yasha’s clit before pushing her fingers back inside her. Yasha strains her neck backwards and her eyes roll back in her head. Beau moves away so she can look down at her, hair fanned out and cheeks flushed.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’ve got you.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yasha looks like she’s struggling to open her eyes and look at her. Beau bends forward and plants open-mouthed kisses across her neck.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I’ve got you,” she repeats.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yasha moans- whines, really- and Beau feels her body go rigid. She clenches around Beau’s fingers even as Beau keeps working them in and out of her. Then, a few moments later, Yasha’s body relaxes. She moans one last time and it turns into a long, breathless sigh. Beau keeps her fingers buried, slowing their rhythm until she stops altogether. The room gets quiet again except for their breathing.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yasha pulls Beau down to her chest. Beau doesn’t resist. They lay there, spent and panting for a couple of minutes. Beau makes lazy circles with her fingers along the top of Yasha’s breasts. Yasha drags her hand slowly up and down the side of Beau’s back.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau almost wants to squeeze her tight and make sure she’s real, but the warmth of her skin is evidence enough, and the pressure of her hands, and the soft, honeyed tension around Beau’s fingers that are still knuckle-deep inside her.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She thinks about pulling them out, but then she feels Yasha press a kiss to her forehead before clearing her throat a bit.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Beau, I-”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau pulls back abruptly and lays her fingers against Yasha’s lips, cutting her off. “I don’t want to, uh, talk about this yet.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yasha arches an eyebrow at her. Beau drops her hand.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I was just going to say that we should turn off those lights,” Yasha tells her, jutting her chin towards the kitchen and shrugging playfully.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau nearly sighs in relief. She chuckles instead. “I’ll get the lights. And some water too?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Mmm, yes please,” Yasha hums.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau thinks about kissing her. There’s something to be said for kissing after sex. Beau’s not sure if there are any lines left for them to cross, but still, she hesitates. She settles for planting a soft peck on the underside of Yasha’s chin. “Be right back,” she murmurs.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>As she retreats, she pulls her fingers from Yasha, enjoying the way it makes her squirm. Yasha flops onto her side and presses her thighs together. Beau looks at her and smirks. Yasha waves a hand at her. “Go away. Go get water.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau does as she told, feeling a kind of weightlessness that she’s sure is a result of the sex. Oxytocin, and the like. She feels like she’s living in one of their memories. When did the present sweep her into the past?</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>They’re touring for nearly a year, Jester. I can’t- I can’t be like this for that long.”</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Beau is slumped on the floor of Jester’s apartment, her legs crossed, her elbows on her knees, and her head in her hands. Her bare feet are being tickled by Jester’s tacky shag carpet but she hardly pays it any mind. She is entirely focused on wallowing in her mounting misery.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>Maybe you’ll surprise yourself, Beau!” Jester calls to her from the kitchen. She’s baking something, something to make Beau feel a little less hopeless. “Maybe the distance will... what do they say? Make the heart grow fonder?”</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>Oh yeah?” Beau shoots, raising her voice to be heard across the apartment. “And what if Fjord was leaving you for nearly 12 months? You’d just... be okay with that?”</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>What, no, I’d be fucking miserable. But- hey, listen to me! BUT-” Jester fights to be heard over Beau’s triumphant ‘a-ha’s that she shouts at her. “-Listen! I would try to make it work because I love him and I don’t want to be without him. Don’t you feel that way about Yasha?”</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Beau knuckles her temples with growing pressure, trying to combat the headache that’s threatening to strike. “Of course I do. I... don’t want it to end, Jes. But I didn’t... I dunno, I didn’t sign up for this.”</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Jester pokes her head around the corner of the kitchen. “So what? I didn’t sign up for Fjord’s crazy ex bullshit but here we are. You choose the person you want to be with and then you weather the storms together.”</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>I think this is a little more than a storm, Jester,” Beau counters. “It’s like... an entire shift in the climate! I mean, this is Yasha’s life we’re talking about. It doesn’t stop at one tour. They get more famous and they tour more-”</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>-But not always, lots of bands take really long breaks between tours-”</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>-Yeah, and some bands tour for two years at a time! It’s a whole lifestyle and I don’t know where I fit in it-”</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>Well,” Jester begins, her voice cautious. “Maybe the whole ‘band’ thing won’t work out...”</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Beau huffs in frustration. “But I can’t hope for that! A, that would be super shitty of me, and B, it’s not fair to either of us for me to hope for her goals to fail.”</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>Okay, okay, you’re right,” Jester concedes, her voice echoing from the kitchen again.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>There are a few moments of silence during which Beau hears the oven door open and close followed by the beep of a timer being set. Then Jester comes to join her in the sitting room. “Are you... worried she’s gonna cheat on you or something? While she’s away?”</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>God, no!” Beau practically shouts. “No! Not at all- Yasha is- she wouldn’t do that. Ever. I’m not worried about that at all.”</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Jester is quiet for a moment before she rests a hand on Beau’s wrist. “Are you worried that you’ll... while she’s away?”</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>No, I- I would never do that. It’s just... I’m not programmed for distance. Some peoples’ relationships get stronger, but others... they grow apart, y’know? Their lives take them in different directions and they try to hold on but it's just a slow, drawn-out death.”</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>And... you’d rather a quick one?” Jester guesses, her tone uncertain.</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>I don’t want one at all!” Beau shouts, waving her arms to emphasize her point. “I just want things to be normal like they were when we started. Now there’s all this tension. We argue so much and it’s hard to feel really happy around each other because there’s always this underlying threat of her leaving. It’s like we should just shut up and enjoy our time together but there’s this dark cloud overhead. We’re sad or we’re bickering when all I want is- is-” Beau pauses to breathe and then starts off again, changing angles, </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>You know she’s been away more these past three months than she’s been home? Stuff just pops up out of nowhere, I guess because they’re getting popular so fast they’re getting these last-minute invites. But like... that festival circuit at the end of last spring- she only had a few days notice because that other band dropped out! There have been times I’ve come home from campus and she’s packing a bag. It just...”</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>Feels like shit,” Jester offers, her voice laced with sympathy. </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>Yeah,” Beau sighs, her shoulders slumping. “I’m in love with her, Jes.” She can’t keep her voice from cracking as she says it. Still, she’s not one to cry and she hates feeling weak, even in front of her best friend. </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Jester strokes her back soothingly, letting the silence extend for a short while before she asks, “Beau, are you wanting me to talk you out of breaking up, or are you wanting me to tell you that it’s the right call?”</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Beau flinches. She hates the words ‘breaking up’. Like a fractured bone. But bones can be set, and wounds can be healed. Ending a relationship feels so much more... permanent. There’s a finality to it that hurts to even think about. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Sure, exes get back together all the time, but she isn’t about to end their relationship with the hope of picking it up again in the future. It wouldn’t exactly be the healthiest thing to do.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>I don’t know, Jes.” </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>Beau caves, pitching herself sideways and into Jester’s waiting arms. Jester holds her and rubs her back and makes soothing little noises even as Beau feels her throat start to burn with the effort of stopping herself from crying.</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>I just don’t know what to do.”</em></p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau shuts off the lights in the apartment and returns to the bed with a large glass of water. She hands it to Yasha first as she crawls back into the bed, then Yasha passes it back to her and she drinks some herself. Yasha watches her drink and it’s almost... sheepish.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Each second it’s as though they spin a wheel, and there’s no telling what they’ll land on: desire, nostalgia, heartache, love, or even, as it would seem by Yasha’s expression, embarrassment.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>No, not embarrassment exactly. It’s more like uncertain happiness. It’s like when they had sex for the very first time, all fumbling limbs and shaking hands. This is far from their first time but Beau supposes the nature of it, being exes and all, is cause for a little trepidation.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Talking about it could help but she said she didn’t want to talk about it yet. Talking risks changing. She rather likes where she’s at.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>That’s why it doesn’t take long for her to instigate things again. Setting the glass aside, she lays down, pulls Yasha to her, and off they go again. This time, she coaxes Yasha on top of her, letting her blanket her for a few moments before she pushes up against her chest. Yasha sits up, confused, straddling her stomach.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau places her hands on either side of Yasha’s hips and pulls down. The motion has Yasha’s sex pressing against the flat of her belly. She gasps a bit as Beau stares up at her, committing it all to memory.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s nothing she hasn’t seen before but still, Yasha is straddling her, pale skin illuminated by the glow of city lights through the window. It’s a sight she wants to remember.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yasha follows Beau’s directive and keeps herself pressed against her skin. She moves her hips slowly, grinding against her while shallow breaths skirt past her lips. Beau feels her get wetter against her with every trembling motion until the skin between them is slick with want.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She runs her hands along Yasha’s thighs before digging her fingers into the muscles there, watching Yasha groan under the sting of it. Yasha’s eyes flutter shut and Beau feels her press harder against her stomach. She grabs Yasha’s hips and lifts- or tries to lift, since Yasha is a pillar of muscle above her- until Yasha gets the message. She whines but obeys, breaking contact with Beau’s slick skin. She looks down at Beau questioningly. Beau smirks.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Up here.” She taps her lips.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yasha’s breath hitches a bit and her eyes widen slightly. “You’re sure?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau nods and taps her lips again. She doesn’t offer a reply with words because she isn’t sure what else to say.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yes, she’s sure. Yes, she wants to feel Yasha above her, grinding down against her like she’s chasing a taste with her tongue. Yes, she wants this in spite of the fact that they don’t belong to each other anymore, and that this is only one night, and she doesn’t know what will happen tomorrow. It didn’t stop them earlier so why stop now?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yasha begins to crawl up her body just as Beau does her best to shimmy down below her. Yasha reaches forward and presses a hand flat to the glass of the window for balance. She looks down at Beau, hair falling around her face and spilling over her chest.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><em>It’s gotten longer,</em> Beau thinks suddenly. She’s not sure why she didn’t think of it before.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Then she reaches her hands up, curling them over Yasha’s thighs, and she pulls her downwards. Yasha goes easily. She sighs loudly when she comes to rest on Beau’s mouth. Beau wants to watch her, wants to enjoy all the ways Yasha twitches and tenses above her, but something stops her.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Maybe she shouldn’t commit any more of this night to memory. As things stand already, it’ll be like breaking her heart twice.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She closes her eyes, although that’s not exactly a solution. Her other senses take over; the feel of Yasha’s skin beneath the pressure of her fingers, the smell of sex mingled with sweat, the taste of Yasha across every inch of her mouth.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>No, closing her eyes wasn’t somehow more helpful, but this is the bed she’s made and quite honestly she’s more than willing to lie in it. She’ll lie in it all night so long as Yasha stays on top of her, making those breathy noises that are probably going to fog up the window.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She digs her nails into Yasha’s thighs and presses her tongue into the heat of her. The moan Yasha lets out is like pouring gasoline on a fire. Beau groans underneath her, and the vibration of it must resonate along her tongue because Yasha gasps and presses down harder. She makes a noise that might’ve been a word if it hadn’t been strangled on the way out. She tries again,</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>Yes-</em>”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau huffs. She can feel herself getting wet, desire coiling as Yasha rocks against her tongue. She wants to hear her say more, say anything. She curls her tongue and withdraws it and presses it flat against her clit. Yasha shudders.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>Fuck,</em> Beau-”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It sounds like a plea, a reassurance, a declaration of love, all of once. It shouldn’t, but it does. Beau hums in her throat with the thrill of it. She sets to work unravelling Yasha from the inside out. She wants to pull every sound from her lips. She aches to hear Yasha moan her name again.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Above her, Yasha is getting louder, messier. The noises she’s making are downright sinful, and if Beau wasn’t singularly focused on making her come, she’d have half a mind to start touching herself to the sound of them.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Just then, Yasha takes a ragged breath inward. The air travels into her lungs, trades oxygen for carbon dioxide, and somewhere on the way out, picks up Beau’s name as baggage. Yasha exhales it sharply before she pitches forward, unable to hold herself upright any longer.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>Yes, Beau-”</em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau feels her legs tighten around her head. She keeps coaxing the orgasm out of her even as Yasha twitches and seems like she’s going to pull away. Beau’s hands flex, holding her prisoner. Yasha’s body goes rigid and Beau laps at the warmth spilling out of her.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When Beau has gotten her fill and Yasha is completely spent, Yashapulls away from her gently. Beau lets her go. Yasha tumbles sideways and onto her back, her breathing heavy and her chest shining with sweat. Beau rolls over, half onto her until she can run her tongue along the space between her breasts. Yasha sighs.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You’ve always been really good at that.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau’s chest tightens. It comes close to talking about them. It borders on opening up a conversation about what exactly they’re doing. She pushes down her panic and shrugs lazily instead. “You’ve always made it really easy.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yasha laughs, a low rumble. “How so?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>There are probably plenty of flowery ways to describe it, but Beau settles for a simple answer. “Because I like pleasing you.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yasha is silent and for a moment Beau worries she’s somehow upset her. Then she hears Yasha making pleased little humming noises as she begins trailing her fingers lazily up and down Beau’s back. It’s incredibly soothing. A few minutes pass before Beau speaks up.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You’re going to put me to sleep,” she mumbles.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Mm,” Yasha hums. Her voice is anything but innocent when she adds, “Well, I do not want to do that.”</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>They do eventually fall asleep, if only after Yasha rolls them sideways, asks Beau to turn around in her arms, and reaches her hand around her waist, dragging her fingers slowly down between her legs. If only after Yasha presses inside of her, using her leverage behind Beau to pull her closer, the flat of her palm rubbing against Beau’s clit as she works her fingers in and out. If only after Beau turns her head sideways, panting and chest heaving, and meets Yasha’s lips in a kiss that leaves her dizzy.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>When Beau comes, she reaches backwards and splays her fingers across the back of Yasha’s head. Yasha breathes hot and heavy into the space below her ear, whispering encouragement as she works Beau over the edge. Beau’s legs tremble. Yasha sucking against her pulse is what sends her over.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She clenches hard around Yasha’s fingers and before she can stop it she’s moaning,</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“<em>Yasha.</em>”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It tumbles from her lips as graceful as a fallen angel, and as treacherous too. Yasha hums against her neck and holds her tight. Her fingers slow to a stop when Beau’s body starts to relax, then she pulls them out slowly and rests her hand on Beau’s hip. She presses a kiss to Beau’s shoulder before letting her lips linger there.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau decides to turn around and kiss her. She brings her hand up to Yasha’s jaw and curls her fingers there, holding her close. Yasha’s fingers, still slick and sticky, dance up Beau’s ribs before resting along the side of her breast. The kiss is gentle and sweet. Then, Beau pulls away.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I missed you,” she whispers. Better late than never.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yasha doesn’t say anything, but she does kiss her again. Just as slow and just as sweet as before. When they fall asleep, they are wrapped up in each other’s arms. Lovers, through and through.</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>Morning – for something so soft it certainly has the capacity to be cruel. Beau wakes up when she feels Yasha’s arm pulling away from her waist. One moment, she’s sleepy. The next, she’s painfully alert.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yasha is leaving her, slinking away at the break of dawn. Heartbreak makes poison in her veins. She turns around to confront her.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She’s met with the sight of Yasha propped up on one elbow, watching her. The hand she pulled away is simply pushing back her tangled mess of hair. Her face is aglow with a soft smile, further lit up by the hazy morning light. Not early morning, exactly. They’ve slept in, it would seem.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Hi,” Yasha murmurs.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau feels the venom drain out of her all at once and she lets out a sigh of relief. She wants to sleep more, to drag out this morning endlessly so they never have to face what’s coming. She rolls forward and buries her face in Yasha’s chest.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Hey,” she replies, her voice muffled by warm skin.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yasha brings a hand up to the back of her head and begins drawing her fingers slowly through her hair. It’s come loose sometime during the night, falling out of the quasi-topknot she’d had it in the day before. Beau hadn’t even noticed. It spills across her the back of her shoulders, parting slightly under Yasha’s careful caress.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“We should talk-” Yasha begins cautiously.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau lets out a ‘harrumph’ against her chest. She wants to make Yasha laugh but Yasha is silent instead. That’s how Beau knows there’s something serious coming.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I have a flight...,” Yasha tells her slowly. “Today.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Surprisingly, it doesn’t hurt as much as she thought it would. She probably expected it. Maybe she’s going to cope with this better than she thought.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“I figured,” she murmurs. “That’s the thing about tours – you don’t tend to stay in one place for long.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No,” Yasha agrees, her voice laced with sadness. “We don’t.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>More silence. Then,</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“You know, the tour is... already half over. I- I don’t know what we’ll do next, but there should be some downtime and I-”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau pulls back from Yasha’s chest. “Are you going to ask me to get back together?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“No, I-” Yasha closes her eyes, scrunching her forehead as she tries to the right words. “I thought we could... spend time together. Talk more?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Do this more, too?” Beau teases. She isn’t sure how she’s managing it, keeping things so light. Maybe it’s because she’s always been good at deflecting.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Yasha blushes furiously. “I, uh, wouldn’t complain about that.” She pauses before adding, “But I’m being serious. I want to see you and maybe we could-”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Talk,” Beau finishes for her.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yeah.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“About us.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yes.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau runs her gaze across Yasha’s face. She takes in her honest eyes and blushing cheeks and full, tempting lips. Beau thinks she’d be a fool to ever turn down the opportunity to spend even just a little more time with this woman, ex-girlfriend or not.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Yeah-” She leans in and rests her head in the space below Yasha’s chin. “I’d like that.”</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p>When Yasha leaves, a little under two hours later, she leaves with a kiss. She presses it to Beau’s lips and lets it convey everything she wasn’t able to say; devotion, love, even hope. It’s the hope that tastes the sweetest.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Once Yasha is gone, Beau expects to feel like shit, but strangely, she doesn’t. Instead, she feels buoyant without being completely unanchored. She floats peacefully around her apartment. She thinks its better than flying, which always runs the risk of a crash.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s later in the day, after she’s gotten dressed and tidied up a bit, that she notices the book still laying on top of the bookcase. She smiles at the memory of the night before, of Yasha handing her the book and everything that came after.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She’s no idiot. She knows the good feeling might not last. She knows one night isn’t indicative of a future together, after everything they’ve been through. She knows she could wake up tomorrow and feel the fallout of what they did; feel pain and loss and heartbreak again, like losing her twice.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>But that’s just the risk, isn’t it?</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau walks over to the bookcase. She picks up <em>The Odyssey </em>and turns it over in her hands. She opens it and searches for page 87. Inside is her daisy. She smiles, slides the flower aside, and reads the page. She knows Yasha would’ve chosen it for a reason. She finds it soon enough.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>‘Nevertheless I long—I pine, all my days—<br/>
to travel home and see the dawn of my return.<br/>
And if a god will wreck me yet again on the wine-dark sea,<br/>
I can bear that too, with a spirit tempered to endure.’</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Beau shakes her head, laughing softly to herself. Gently, she lays the daisy on the top of the bookcase. She sticks her thumb into<em> The Odyssey</em> to mark her page, and then she crouches down and pulls another book from the bookcase. Some hefty tome about criminal psychology. She gently places the daisy between two of its pages and dog-ears one of the corners. Later today, or maybe tomorrow, she’s going to buy a frame for the daisy and rest it by her bed.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s sentimental as shit but she doesn’t care.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>It’s Saturday and, in light of recent events, she decides to make it an extra lazy day. She pads over to her bed, book in hand, and props herself up against the window. The sun is shining above, reflecting off the glass-coated towers of the city outside. Beau hears the general humdrum of Saturday traffic; light, but present.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>She opens the book again. She rereads the paragraph that Yasha had marked for her. Then, she flips nearly one hundred pages backwards and returns to the start. Smiling softly, she begins to read.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>thank y’all for reading and pls drop a comment if you liked it as it will literally make my whole entire day. </p>
<p>you can find me on tumblr as @rageyasha for all my cr nonsense, come say hi</p></blockquote></div></div>
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